


Nameless

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer





	Nameless

Karl's house isn't a home. It used to be a refuge from everything he wanted to escape. Now it's a prison, and he can't leave. He sits behind its windows, blinds firmly closed against the sun, unplugs his phone and wraps himself in his own self-loathing as he listens to his neighbor living his life.

His neighbor is a writer with a regular column in the local paper. According to his mail, his name is Viggo and he's handsome with a lop-sided smile and shaggy blonde hair. Karl notices these things as he watches Viggo in their shared yard, gardening or barbecuing in bare feet and jeans. He watches Viggo as he leaves, displaying a casual elegance that contradicts the often mad look he can see in his eyes. He watches Viggo as he comes home from a date, arm draped around the shoulders of a young man or woman, lips whispering intimate promises.

Karl has often marveled at the number of people his neighbor knows. There's a steady flow of visitors, both for work and pleasure, and Karl wonders what it would be like to have so many people want to spend time with you. Karl often hears Viggo laughing through the wall and knows his neighbor's natural confidence and exuberance are what draws others to him. He hears Viggo as he talks on the phone, conducting interviews or speaking to friends. He hears Viggo when he entertains friends and colleagues at parties. He hears Viggo at night, lust-filled exhalations shattering the night air.

It's 4 in the morning, and Karl makes his way downstairs to the garbage bins with a couple of weeks worth of trash. On his way back, he comes face to face with his neighbor. He tries on a smile, the corners of his mouth only slightly twitching; attempts a hello, but only manages a barely audible sound. The writer nods and moves past him, obviously off on some other adventure, another day filled with new experiences even before the crack of dawn. Karl closes his door, forces the tears not to fall, the one person in this world not deserving of anything more than cursory acknowledgement. He is nothing, faceless, nameless, worthy only of his neighbor's indifference.

There's doesn't seem to be a point in trying to change anything. The world was meant for people like Viggo, people who draw others to them like gravity, people who aren't afraid to live. For people like Karl the world is full of peril, full of ridicule, full of pain. There is no love, no affection, no kindness. He is jealous of the writer, jealous of the ease with which he interacts with others, with the number of people who admire him, who jockey for his time and attention.

One more day at home and Karl is likely to lose his job. One more day and he'll have to see if he can find the will to start over. One more day and he may decide that giving up isn't enough, that he needs to stop wasting the air and the sun and leave them for someone more deserving. He seals one more door and takes one more step toward the almost inevitable decision. He wonders if he would then be worthy of a few words in Viggo's column, if he would garner any interest from him at all. In death, perhaps he would finally have a place in his world.


End file.
